


the happy-ending bouquet

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Jenny collects travel magnets from places she’s never been and sticks them to the refrigerator, and Rupert starts a garden of fruits and vegetables in the backyard, and both of them start spending every other Sunday making jams and pastries in their new, spacious kitchen. They can’t spend weekdays doing things like that, because Jenny’s just been hired at a nearby college and Rupert is trying to open a new branch of the Magic Box, but after Sunnydale, even busy work days are a comfort and a luxury.(really just a "giles and jenny are married and alive in 2018" fic, inspired by meanings of various flowers)





	the happy-ending bouquet

_adonis flower (recollection of life’s pleasures)_

Jenny collects travel magnets from places she’s never been and sticks them to the refrigerator, and Rupert starts a garden of fruits and vegetables in the backyard, and both of them start spending every other Sunday making jams and pastries in their new, spacious kitchen. They can’t spend weekdays doing things like that, because Jenny’s just been hired at a nearby college and Rupert is trying to open a new branch of the Magic Box, but after Sunnydale, even busy work days are a comfort and a luxury.

Today, Rupert is braiding Jenny’s hair into a crown in front of the mirror; even though she’s grown it out, she refuses to learn how to do anything with it aside from messy buns and ponytails. But today is a special day, which means that Rupert is twisting little flowers into Jenny’s hair as she does her makeup.

“Always a bridesmaid,” Jenny quips as she applies mascara.

“Yes, well, when you get married before the rest of them, that _does_ tend to be what happens,” Rupert points out, tucking a soft blue blossom near Jenny’s ear. “And anyway, didn’t Willow ask you to walk her down the aisle? That’s hardly a bridesmaid’s job.”

“Technically speaking, I’m her maid of honor,” Jenny reminds him. “She says it’s because she loved being my maid of honor and she wants to return the favor, but I’m pretty sure she just wants to make me feel like I’m still young enough to be one of the girls.”

Rupert rolls his eyes. “For all the talk of you getting old,” he says, “there’s only one of us that’s actually going grey.”

“Yeah, but you age like fine wine,” Jenny points out. “Right down to the suit.” She reaches up with her free hand, brushing her fingers tenderly against Rupert’s in her hair, and sees his loving smile reflected in the mirror in front of her. “We settled on a present, right?”

“I made a scrapbook, and you made a photo slideshow because you _insist_ on being difficult, and then there’s the set of monogrammed towels,” Rupert answers, twisting another flower into the braided crown. “Which, contrary to your belief, is _not_ something that they already own.”

“They own towels,” Jenny reminds him. “I’m still of the mind that a romantic dinner for two would be much more appropriate.”

“Dinners fade,” says Rupert, “towels are forever.” Finishing the last flower, he presses a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Shall I get you a necklace?”

“I’m thinking the alexandrite,” says Jenny, “seems fitting for a day like this,” and stands up, turning in her knee-length bridesmaid’s dress. It’s summery, a soft yellow, with green vines and light blue flowers that match her clunky blue heels. “God, I’m grateful that they didn’t go the Anya route,” she says, laughing, “as much as I love that girl, the dress code for her wedding was _aggressively_ formal.”

“Buffy’s of the mind that one must always be prepared to fight demons, even at one’s wedding,” Rupert explains, slipping his hand into Jenny’s, “and I have the advantage of a casual suit.”

“Surprisingly,” says Jenny, “you look kind of okay in that shade of blue. Cordelia’s got a good eye.”

“Yes, she seems to have very much embraced her role as wedding planner,” says Rupert, wincing. “I suspect she’ll murder any demon herself if it attempts to interfere with today.”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” Jenny quips, which makes Rupert laugh as they exit the room.

* * *

_agapanthus (love letters)_

Giles writes emails. He’s never really gotten the hang of texting, and he suspects he’ll only become used to it once everyone else has stopped doing it (that is, after all, what seems to have happened with emails and Facebook and everything he’s only now beginning to learn how to use) but Jenny bought him a heavy-duty laptop that he finds at least reasonably easy to use, and he does love his wife rather a lot, and though he’ll never admit it, she _does_ have a point about tech not just being a passing fad, so he writes emails.

The problem with writing emails in the twenty-first century is that no one actually responds to most of them—or, more accurately, some do, but the children generally don’t. Buffy prefers the chat-snap thing, and Willow has a blog, and Xander is rather fond of online gaming, so generally Giles just calls them when he wants to reach them. But Jenny, regardless of how many emails Giles writes her in a day, regardless of the fact that they live in the same house and see each other every day anyway, _always_ writes back.

* * *

 

_balsamine (impatience)_

“We are _seventeen minutes behind schedule,_ Jenny, I do not think that checking your Twitter is _entirely necessary_ at this juncture,” Giles calls irritably up into the bedroom, doing his best to ignore the Scoobies (Buffy and Dawn are doing a truly abysmal job of hiding their laughter, and Willow and Tara aren’t much better at it).

“That only took _two seconds,_ just give me a minute while I comb my hair!” Jenny’s voice calls back from their bedroom.

“You two are such old marrieds,” says Tara with amused affection. “It’s sweet.”

“I am not _old,_ ” says Giles, more out of habit than anything.

“Oh, Giles,” says Buffy, patting his shoulder. “You’ve always been old. Even when I was a high school sophomore, you were like forty years older than you needed to be with those tweed suits and all that glasses-polishing.”

“ _Jenny we are going to leave without you if you don’t hurry up,”_ Giles calls up the stairs. Jenny, visible from the landing, sticks her head out of the bedroom, gives Giles a pointed don’t-test-me look, and ducks back in. “ _Very_ mature,” Giles adds, “ever so helpful—”

“You know, I’m pretty sure he and Ms. Calendar have argued like this since they first started dating,” Willow’s saying to Tara, “so I don’t know if you can really call them _old marrieds_ when they’ve always acted like they’ve been married for seventy-five years.”

“Yeah, a marriage kept alive by sarcasm and sarcasm alone,” quips Xander.

“And you’re definitely one to talk about functional relationships, Xander,” Jenny volleys back, finally coming down the stairs with her purse slung over her shoulder and wearing a large sun hat. “Everyone ready for picnic day?”

“Everyone has _been_ ready for picnic day for _seventeen minutes,_ ” Giles begins, but is cut off as Jenny crosses the room to him and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, winking at him as she pulls away. “Do _not_ try that,” he says indignantly, blushing despite himself, “it doesn’t _work_ anymore. I’m not about to fall to pieces just because—”

Jenny drapes her arms around his neck. “Don’t test me, sweetie,” she says. “You know the extent of my power.”

“We are _still here,_ ” says Buffy loudly, “and now _we’re_ the ones waiting around, so could you just, like, wrap up the banter so we can all go on a big picnic and feed ducks?”

“I _really_ want to feed some ducks,” says Dawn excitedly to Tara. “Maybe I’ll see a duckling!”

Giles and Jenny smile reluctantly at each other. “You take too long to get ready,” Giles tells her, pulling away to follow the children out the door.

“I’ll work on it,” says Jenny, falling into step with him.

“And your hat is awful.”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

* * *

 

_black-eyed susan (encouragement)_

As soon as Jenny exits the lecture hall, Rupert runs up to her, eyes bright and proud, and picks her up, spinning her around as she laughs. “My _wife,_ ” he says breathlessly, still holding her a few inches above the ground, “is a _university professor._ ”

“See, this is why marrying me paid off,” says Jenny, and she’s grinning just as much as he is. “How’d I do?”

“To be frank, I still have trouble following when you’re talking computer science,” Rupert answers, “ _but,_ ” and now he does put her down, rummaging in his bag, “I took notes—”

“Oh my god,” says Jenny, pressing her hands to her smile.

“—they’re mostly unintelligible, but I am very, very proud, and I wanted you to know that, that there was at least _one_ person listening—” Rupert holds up his notebook, grinning like a little kid. True to his word, the notes are comprised mostly of question marks and weird Watcher shorthand, but they go on for pages and pages and—

Jenny laughs. “No _way,_ ” she says, “is that a doodle of me?” _Professor Calendar_ is written under the sloppy sketch, along with a little heart.

Rupert turns a bit pink. “You just looked so pretty,” he said, “and I didn’t want to distract you with flash photography, so, um. Drawing.”

“I’m framing this,” Jenny tells him.                                     

“Jenny, _no,_ the children—”

“Will love it,” says Jenny, “and if they make fun of you, I’ll tell them that they’re not allowed to.”

“I’m fairly certain that that won’t actually stop Buffy,” Rupert points out, trying to take the notebook back. Jenny holds it to her chest. “Oh, Jenny, _don’t—”_

“You are,” says Jenny, “the best guy in the world, and I love you so much.” This gets Rupert sufficiently blushy and moony-eyed enough that she can rip the doodle out of the book without him putting up too much of a fight. She actually doesn’t want to use it to make fun of him; it’s a pretty good likeness, and the little heart next to _Calendar_ makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. “I just wanna keep it for me, okay?” she persists hopefully.

“I sup _pose,_ ” says Rupert, but he’s smiling. “I really am quite proud of you, Jenny.”

“Aww, it was nothing,” says Jenny, flipping her hair. “A little extra night school here, a few online courses there, and I’ve got my dream job! Piece of cake.”

“To you, yes,” says Rupert, taking Jenny’s hand as they walk down the hall. “To anyone _not_ extraordinary, it isn’t quite as easy.”

* * *

 

_china aster (love of variety)_

“Hawaii?” Jenny suggests, lying upside down on their bed and flipping through the binder of travel brochures. “Jamaica? I know you’re big on all those boring, foggy countries, but I’m really into the idea of a nice beach this time around.”

“You know me so well,” says Giles, amused. “And weren’t we in agreement with regard to my, ah, not going anywhere near warm climates?”

“Rupert,” says Jenny, “you cannot spend your whole life refusing to go anywhere near the Equator. You’re missing out on some _amazing_ beaches.” She considers, then adds, “Sex on a beach with your gorgeous wife is also a plus of tropical vacations.”

“One word,” says Giles, “sand.”

“Are you gonna get all Anakin Skywalker on me?” Jenny asks, rolling over onto her stomach to grin up at him.

“Hardly,” says Giles. “I like to think of myself as more of a Padme—don’t you _dare_ start laughing, Jenny, stop that right now,” he adds with a grin, crossing the room to pull his hysterically giggling wife into a series of playful kisses. “Mmm, _much_ as I enjoy your romantic company,” he murmurs, “I am not at all in favor of sex on a beach.”

“Sex in one of those beach chairs, then,” Jenny suggests without hesitation. “We _need_ a vacation. We’ve got savings, I’ve got time off, and I want to get a really nice tan so I can make all the other professors jealous. Regale them with incredible vacation stories that _aren’t_ about that one time we went to France.”

“If I recall,” says Giles, “you were _very_ enthusiastic about France.”

“Yeah, well,” Jenny grins, “I’m high-maintenance. Mama needs her beaches.”

“Jenny, I will _pay_ you to never say that again.”

“How much?” Jenny quips.

Giles kisses her again, smiling against Jenny’s mouth, and says, “I’ll _consider_ beaches. _Possibly._ But only if you promise not to coerce me into sex on a beach.”

“Sex on a towel?”

“Is this the only reason you want to go to Hawaii, Jenny? Do you _want_ us to get arrested for public indecency?”

“I am _all_ about trying new things,” says Jenny. “And we definitely haven’t gotten arrested in a while.”

“That is a _good thing,_ ” says Giles. “We live _peacefully_ now. I am decisively not the type to live on the wild side.”

“Sure, _Ripper,_ ” says Jenny, and bats her lashes at him. “You’re _definitely_ not the kinda guy who’d ravish me on this bed, surrounded by all these brochures.”

“Ravishing, yes,” says Giles, and flips a laughing Jenny over onto her back, hovering over her before kissing her deeply. “Brochures, absolutely not,” and with a sweep of his hand, the binder of brochures is knocked to the floor.

* * *

 

_wormwood (absence)_

“When do you think you’re getting back?” Jenny asks as she unlocks her car, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. “Not that I’m being the clingy spouse or anything—”

 _“—yes, yes, we all know you’re a capable and incredible woman who’s holding down the fort beautifully,”_ Rupert quips, and the lightness in his voice calms Jenny down a little. _“It really is a simple mission, Jenny. The new Council just wanted my input on a few factors, and I promise I’ll be home by the end of the week.”_

Jenny likes the new Council specifically because the new Council doesn’t require Rupert to work on fighting evil and saving the world, both of which, while admirable pursuits, put her husband in very serious danger. That said, it’s still nerve-wracking when the new Council _does_ need Rupert’s help, even if it’s strictly in an advisory capacity; he always has to fly out to Cleveland and she doesn’t like waking up without him there.

For a moment, she’s always a little afraid that something’s happened to him. Their lives had been like that for a little over a decade, and it’s left a significant impact on her.

“I love you,” says Jenny; she doesn’t want him to forget in case—in case something happens, no matter how much he reassures her that it won’t. She wants him to remember that she loves him and that she wants him to play it safe and that he’s not the only Watcher with a heart anymore, there are others, he doesn’t have to die playing the hero—

 _“Darling,_ ” says Rupert, _“I can hear you worrying through the phone. Is Faith still staying with you as moral support?”_

“I’m bringing in groceries for our movie night right now,” Jenny answers, trying to smile. “And—I love you.”

 _“I love you too,_ ” says Rupert. _“Incredibly and passionately, and I’ll be back by the end of the week.”_

“Promise?”

Rupert is quiet. It’s the silence that impacts Jenny more, that moment of hesitation where both of them are just a little bit frightened that their peaceful, danger-free life might get ripped away from the both of them. _“I promise,_ ” he says finally.

It’s not enough, but it has to be enough, so Jenny holds her groceries to her chest and tells herself she’ll be holding him in a week’s time. “I love you,” she says for the third time.

_“I love you too, dear.”_

“Make sure you play it safe there.”

 _“I always do._ ” Rupert hangs up.

Jenny shifts the groceries, placing them down on the trunk of her car, and pockets her phone, forcing a smile.

* * *

 

_stephanotis (happiness in marriage)_

“We’re thinking a June wedding,” says Anya, flipping the engagement ring out to show to the group. Anya’s fiancée, a delighted-looking young woman by the name of Elaine, smiles shyly at everyone and says that it’s wonderful to meet them all, Anya’s talked so much about them, and wow, she definitely wasn’t exaggerating about how pretty Willow was! This makes Anya make lots of _shh_ faces at a giggling Elaine, and the attention turns to that.

Giles takes this opportunity to step back and stand next to his wife, who’s got a thoughtful smile on her face. “What is it?” he asks her.

“Do you remember when we told the kids?” Jenny says wistfully. It’s a rhetorical question; Giles has scrapbooks _full_ of pictures of their wedding, and both of them take a sort of hungry delight in having finally found a family. Neither of them have forgotten anything, but both of them still love listening to each other’s stories. “You were all blushy, I kept on flashing my ring because I wanted them to figure it out on their own—”

“Faith noticed first, if I recall,” Giles says, looking over Anya’s head at the framed photo on Buffy’s mantel. It’s actually a candid shot from his wedding, one that had somehow managed to capture the entire Scooby Gang listening to Willow’s maid-of-honor speech. Their wedding was a small affair, one that Jenny barely even dressed up for, but that somehow made it seem even more special than any austere, expensive, traditional Giles wedding. “She wanted to be my best man, but, well, obviously that role had to go to Buffy.”

“She did walk me down the aisle,” says Jenny, glancing affectionately over at Faith, who’s busy having a teasing argument with Tara about something or other. “She’s still very proud of that.”

In the picture on the mantel, Giles’s face is aglow with a dazed sort of joy. Jenny’s resting her head on his shoulder, face turned away from the camera, but her profile still shows a contented smile and soft eyes. “I’m very happy for Anya and Elaine,” says Giles. “Marriage is—it’s work, but the good kind.”

* * *

 

_hydrangea (thank you for understanding)_

Jenny’s woken by a choked gasp. She rolls over very fast, heart pounding, and sees her husband pulling himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with a visibly shaking hand. “It’s fine,” he says in a strangled voice, “I just—”

Jenny sits up too, pulling Rupert into her arms. “I’m here,” she says softly. “You’re okay.”

At the beginning of their relationship, this kind of thing wouldn’t have worked for either of them. Maybe not even ten years ago, because Rupert and Jenny both tend to be the kind of guarded that doesn’t even go away after nightmares. But they’ve fallen into patterns, and Rupert trusts her, and his head falls to her shoulder as he lets out a quiet, trembling breath. “God knows what I’d do without you,” he whispers.

Jenny kisses the top of his head. “You’d mope around and then you’d get your shit together before my ghost showed up to kick your ass into gear,” she tells him, which makes him laugh. “What happened?”

“Buffy was dead,” says Rupert quietly. “And you—” He exhales. “I couldn’t save you,” he says.

“Which time?”

“Eyghon.”

Jenny winces a little. Her nightmares about Eyghon aren’t as frequent (it’s been nearly twenty years, after all), but they’re vivid and painful when they do show up. “That sucks,” she says. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”

“Not particularly,” says Rupert, arms tightening around her as though he’s afraid she’ll crumble into dust if he lets go.

“Okay,” says Jenny, a little softer. “You want to go back to sleep?”

“Decisively not.”

“Work with me here, England,” Jenny quips, kissing the top of his head. “Can’t exactly help if you shoot down all my ideas.”

“Actually,” says Rupert into Jenny’s shoulder, “disagreeing with you seems to be helping quite a lot at this juncture.”

Jenny laughs out loud, then seriously considers this. “Okay,” she says. “Um, books are useless?”

“You don’t sound all that convinced,” says Rupert doubtfully, raising his head.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been married to you almost fifteen years,” Jenny counters, grinning a little. “I’m not exactly as militant about computers as I was in my late twenties.”

Rupert smiles too. Then he says, “Do you remember that time my book set a demon loose in the Internet?”

“Because of my ridiculous scanning initiative I set up _just_ to push your buttons?” Jenny asks in response, resting her forehead against Rupert’s. He looks better now, not as pale and shaking, and that makes her feel a little less worried. “Yeah, I remember. It’s how we fell in love.”

* * *

 

_umbrella sedge (home)_

Jenny sings, horribly off-key, while she does the dishes. Giles has honestly never heard anything more beautiful, and he isn’t sure how to tell Jenny this, because she has a tendency to laugh and say that he’s too in love with her to be able to realize how awful her voice is. He doesn’t know how to put into words the fact that it isn’t Jenny’s voice he loves, but the fact that she doesn’t care how awful she sounds. The fact that she sings, delighted and not even close to on key, without even a hint of self-consciousness or reservation.

She radiates happiness, these days. He loves seeing her like that.

Today, Giles happens to get home early and find Jenny in their kitchen, splashing her hands around in the dishwater while she sings along to the playlist Buffy made for her. Stepping forward, he slides his arms around her stomach, hugging her from behind. “How was work?” he asks.

“Got off early, thank _god,_ ” Jenny answers, tilting her head upward to smile up at him. “No one was listening to me today; I think it’s not close enough to midterms for them to be scared about their grades just yet. Spiderman kiss?”

Giles kisses her upside-down (unbelievably, spending a good amount of time with Jenny and Buffy has made him at least reasonably aware of most popular culture) and tells her, “Anya and I made an excellent deal today on an enchanted armchair.”

“Good enough to take me out to dinner?” Jenny inquires, shaking out her hands and wiping them on the dish towel. “Or are we going home-cooked tonight?”

“I was actually thinking I’d make us dessert,” Giles suggests, “and we order in from that Chinese restaurant down the block. You’re always saying we don’t eat enough takeout, right?”

“I am _definitely_ in support of that,” says Jenny. “Definitely, totally, absolutely, hold up while I go shower, it has been a _long_ day.”

“Shall I join you?” says Giles significantly.

Jenny turns in his arms, kisses his nose, and says, “An _actual_ shower, Rupert. I really want enough time to binge that new show with you on Netflix.” She smirks, then adds, “Also, I really want to teach you how to _use_ Netflix.”

“I know how to Netflix,” Giles objects, then frowns. “Is _Netflix_ a verb or a noun?”

“You work on that while I shower,” Jenny calls over her shoulder as she hurries out of the kitchen. “Can you call the Chinese place?”

“On it,” Giles calls back, and turns off the water. He leaves the music on. Taking out his smartphone, he dials the number (he’s more than grateful for speed-dial, though he’ll never admit it to Jenny) and says, “Yes, I’d like to order for two?”


End file.
